My Girl on Fire
by SilveryMoon34
Summary: The Hunger Games, from Peeta's perspective. Crappy title, but better than it looks.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Yeah, I know, this has probably been done before in a million different ways in this fandom, but I was curious. And I wanted to practice with first person present tense, something I'm not used to. That being said, I'm sure it needs work. That's why I'm posting this, to see what you guys think. If you like, or have helpful criticism, please comment! It will be based on the book and the movie because my memory is crappy. Enjoy :)**

**(My) Girl on Fire**

Reaping day. Just the words put a hard knot of dread deep in my stomach. But I get up anyway. I roll out of bed and pad out of my small bedroom; my bare feet surprisingly silent on the familiar, smooth old floorboards.

Outside, I tiptoe down the hall, past my parents' room and the room my brothers share, into the small kitchen that doubles as Dad's bakery. The only bread we would be making today will be for ourselves; all shops close down for the Reaping. The sky outside the shop windows shows it to be barely morning, but there's no way I can go back to sleep. Not today. So I do the only thing I can do: keep my hands busy with bread.

Mixing the ingredients in a large bowl; massaging the cold sticky dough in my hands; the mindless act of baking calms me, and gives me something to focus on other than the future. As I'm pressing the dough into a small iron pan, a distinctive flicker of brown and black flashes past the window on my left.

Someone else who can't sleep in—Katniss Everdeen.

As always when I think of her, my stomach flips and flutters with queasy little butterflies. As always, I think about calling out to her. But my throat contracts, swallowing down the words.

As I quickly shove the pan into the brick oven for baking, I wonder what I would say to her, if I did get the chance. _Hi Katniss. I'm Peeta Mellark. You probably don't remember me, but I remember you. I see you at school all the time…_

_Yeah, good luck with that, Peeta, _a small voice that sounds suspiciously like my mother says sarcastically in the back of my mind. I snort quietly to myself, shaking my head and focusing back on the soft, mushy dough in my hands.

**…..**

Like every other morning, the morning of the Reaping slips by in an instant. Though I know it's been hours, it feels like only a few minutes before my mother is in the kitchen, shooing me back to my room to get ready.

On my bed, a clean white shirt and dark pants—hand me downs, from my older brother—lay waiting. Numbly, I strip off my shirt, and wash my hair and face in the small rusty basin that was also left out for me. Quietly I dress, and when I'm done I go back to the kitchen, where my mother attacks my hair with her precious ivory comb, slicking the wet locks flat against my scalp. She does it wordlessly, focusing more on the task itself than me. Going through the motions, just like me.

Once we're all dressed and combed to my mother's satisfaction, we make our way to the square with all the other families. I trail slightly behind, automatically scanning the crowd for the Everdeens. For Katniss. But we're with the earlier families, and as a result, the later arrivals swell behind us, a uniform wall of gray-faced people that make it impossible to pick out anyone, even Katniss's fair-haired mother and sister.

Disappointed, I give it up, mumbling a good-bye to my mother and brothers, who hardly seem to hear me, and to my dad, who nods back and half smiles, gripping my shoulder briefly as I move away to join the other male sixteen year olds.

I stare at the crumbling façade of the Justice Building, hands clenching and unclenching at my sides in an effort not to fidget, while the rest of the families sign in and break apart into their age groups.

Finally, I see her. Katniss. She stands with the female sixteen year olds, across the way, tense, worried, dark eyes flickering—then her head turns, and her face brightens. I look away then. I know who she's looking at, and it isn't me.

"Welcome, welcome, welcome," Effie Trinket suddenly trills from the stage. "Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be_ ever _in your favor! Now, before we begin, we have a very special film, brought to _you _all the way from the Capitol!" She then turns to the screen, directing everyone's eyes upward with a purple gloved hand.

I stop really watching then. It's the same every year. The same story. I keep staring forward, wishing it would just hurry up and finish already…

When it does, Effie speaks again. "I just love that! Now the time has come for us to select one courageous young man and woman for the honor of representing District 12 in the 74th annual Hunger Games! As usual, ladies first!"

I watch, stomach bunching in queasy knots, heart somewhere near my Adam's apple, hoping, praying Katniss's name wouldn't be the one-

Effie reaches one long fingered, purple tipped hand into the glass sphere with the girls' names, and after a brief hesitation, her hand plunges in, bringing out a folded piece of paper. She opens it carefully, and clears her throat…

"Primrose Everdeen."

For a moment, relief rushes through me. It's not Katniss. But then I remember. _Everdeen_. It doesn't fully click though until a little fair-haired twelve year old girl moves out of the crowd, tucking the back of her blouse into the back of her skirt. Oh no. No. Primrose Everdeen. Katniss's little sister. My hands clench helplessly at my sides as the Peacekeepers move in to guide her to the stage.

Then Katniss realizes. Nobody stops her as she moves out into the open. "Prim! Prim!" The desperation in her voice is as painful as a hot coal. I can't look. I look away, biting my lip hard enough to hurt, nails digging into my palms.

Then-"I volunteer! I volunteer!"

The bottom drops out of my stomach. I look up in horror as she continues, straightening up almost defiantly: "I volunteer as tribute."

Effie's as surprised by this as the rest of us. "It…It seems we have a volunteer."

The Peacekeepers let Katniss go. The sisters embrace, Katniss speaking low and urgently; then Prim starts to scream, "No!" fighting the Peacekeepers until Gale pushes through the crowd, picks her up and hauls her back. The Peacekeepers re-form around Katniss, guiding her to the stage under Effie's trills of encouragement.

Katniss walks, silent and pale, up to the stage, where Effie brings her up and asks for her name. "Katniss Everdeen."

"Well, I bet my hat that was your sister, wasn't it?"

"Yes."

"Let's have a big hand for our very first volunteer, Katniss Everdeen!"

No one applauds. Instead, everyone touches three fingers to their lips and holds them out to her. To Katniss. Heart back in my throat, along with all the unsaid hellos, I do the same.

"And now for the boys!" I don't watch as she bustles over to the sphere with the boys' names. My eyes are on Katniss, beautiful and tragic in her pretty blue dress and side braid…

"Peeta Mellark."

It takes me a second to register why everyone around me is suddenly moving away, staring at me with solemn eyes. Me. She called me. My heart drops from my throat to somewhere in my stomach. My veins freeze. I want to run, back to the warmth and the familiarity of the bakery, but I can't. Instead, I move numbly out of the crowd, up to the stage. To Katniss, but not in the way I have ever imagined it. The crowd is silent. No one volunteers for me. I take the stage, my clenched fists trembling.

After that, things happen in a quick blur. Katniss's cold hand in mine as we numbly shake hands. Effie ushering us into the Justice Building with a group of Peacekeepers. Two of them splitting off to guide me to a different room from Katniss. Automatically my head turns, watching her until I'm being pushed into my own small room for an hour. An hour of waiting.

With no Katniss to distract me, reality truly crashes in. My legs turn from solid ice to jelly. I stagger over to the velvet window seat and collapse on it. My hands are shaking. I watch them where they lay on my thighs, as if they belong to someone else…

My head jerks up like a puppet on strings as the doorknob turns. My mother, still in her ivory-colored dress and matching comb, comes in, her once-pretty face expressionless.

Tears sting in my eyes. "Mom." My voice cracks as I get up, diving into her arms as if I were five again. Her arms fold around me. Her hand strokes the back of my head lightly.

"Maybe District 12 will finally have a winner," She says quietly after a moment. "She's strong."

She. Not 'he'. Not 'you'. Not me. I pull away from her, examining her face for a joke. There isn't one. She smiles, but it's not a nice smile. She pats my cheek, but her hand is as cold as her comb. When the Peacekeepers come for her, she goes without a backward glance.

My dad comes in next, brushing past my mother without looking at her. When he sees me, he doesn't hesitate. "My boy." He pulls me to him and hugs me hard, my face pressing into his shoulder.

"Dad." I try and fail to sound okay. I know I fail because Dad's grip tightens. My throat closes, and I can't talk anymore. Dad can't seem to, either, so for the rest of the time we have left we just stand there. I don't realize I'm crying until Dad pulls away at the sound of the door opening.

He is, too. He puts his big hands on my shoulder, hands I admired as a kid for their ability to frost the most delicate of cakes, squeezing. "I love you, my son. Remember that." He says quickly, and leaves before the Peacekeepers try to drag him out. After that, I'm alone. No one else comes to visit. I sit on the velvet seat and try to stop the panic that comes out as quiet sobs. I manage to by the end of the hour, but it's a close thing.

It's a different pair of Peacekeepers from last time. I can tell because one is a woman, and the other is shorter than before. They don't order me up right away; they stand quietly for a moment while I quickly scrub the rest of the wetness off my face with a sleeve.

When the woman motions to me, I stand, trying to be straight and tall, like Katniss. For Dad, though I know he can't see me. For myself. For my district.

They lead me out to join back up with Katniss and Effie, who shepherds us into a car for the ride to the train station. Effie sits between us, chattering on about chandeliers and doorknobs and treats, but I'm not listening. My hearing seems to shut down as reality sets in again. This is really happening. I really have been chosen to go to the Capitol and fight to the death on national TV. With _Katniss Everdeen_, of all people.

No, the odds were not in my favor today.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Nothing much happens in this chapter. It's boring. Don't quite know what to do with poor Peeta when Katniss is all off in her own head giving backstory. Also apologies for some smudging of the story line. Someone keeps forgetting to bring back my copy of the book so I've had to make do with chapter summaries, the movie, and my own crappy memory. Hope you like it anyway :). Comments and helpful criticism are appreciated.**

The train is like nothing I've ever seen before in District 12. It's huge, so much so that I hardly notice the cameras. I do notice the subtle tensing in Katniss, though, but before I can think of something to say, Effie herds us onto the train, past all the flashing cameras. Absently, I think of a little mutt beetle my dad got as a present from Mayor Undersee once, the white jewel-like casings on its wings flashing in the sun…

It's…It's…There are no words I can think of to describe it, other than that it puts the bakery and it's meticulously cared for old floorboards to shame. It's beautiful, the lush carpet underneath our feet, the delicate crystal chandeliers above our heads, the silver platters of fluffy little cakes and other foods I've never seen before. But the only thing I feel is dread, and all I can think of is a phrase my mother had said once before, in a low voice as if the peacekeepers were standing outside the bakery door, listening: "A gilded cage, for gilded rats." That's what this is. A gilded cage. And Katniss and I are the rats.

The thought threatens to bring back the sobbing panic from before, with a heaping helping of claustrophobia. I manage to fend it off, though, to find Effie's looking at me strangely. "Something wrong, Peeta?"

I do my best to smile normally at her. "No, I'm fine. But could you point me to the…um…"

"Room cars are in the back of the train," she replies, not unkindly. I nod and cross the dining car in that direction, past Katniss who seems to be lost in her own thoughts, looking out the window at the landscape flashing past.

My car is the second to last, and it's as richly furnished as the dining car. And it's big. I could easily fit three of my old closet rooms at home in it. To help myself relax, I wander around in it, just looking. I kick my boots off and stand there for a minute, feeling the unfamiliar but not unpleasant sensation of the fuzzy dark blue carpet underneath my bare feet. A smile tugs at my mouth as I bounce on the bed a little. It's squishy like the bread dough from this morning but as green as the meadow outside the fence in District 12.

Thinking about the meadow makes me think of Katniss. I wonder what's going through her head right now. Is she as scared as I am? Somehow, I doubt it. She always seems so…on top of everything, even at the reaping. Well, except that one time…

Instantly I'm sucked into the memory. I can almost hear the pounding of the rain on the roof of the bakery; can almost feel the cool draft on my arm as my mother opens the door to shout at Katniss, tiny, skin and bones Katniss, who's looking in our trash bins for food. I get a glimpse of her frightened, wet, bloodless face before she darts away behind the pig pens. My mother shuts the door again with a scornful huff.

I know all too well what will happen to me, but I do it anyway: I let the fresh loaves I just took from the oven 'slip' from my hands into the crackling fire with a loud (and probably exaggerated-sounding) 'ouch'. I bend quickly to pick them out, before they get too burned. I'm barely straightened up before the rolling pin comes flying at me.

"You stupid boy!" my mother shrieks. "Look at what you've done! Take them out to the pigs, you stupid creature."

I go, loaves in hand, cheek stinging and throbbing from what will be an ugly bruise, but secretly pleased with myself, anyway.

I tear off a piece and throw it to the pigs, looking for Katniss out of the corner of my eye. Just as I'm starting to get scared that she ran back home, I see her, leaning hopelessly against a tree trunk, hands pressed to her belly.

I throw another chunk off for the pigs, but the second I'm sure my mother isn't looking, I fling the rest of the bread out in Katniss's direction, satisfied when one almost hits her foot. Then I hurry back inside, secretly glowing with pride on the inside that I had successfully fooled my mother and helped Katniss anyway.

Remembering that childish pride and sense of victory makes my smile bigger, and, in a strange way I can't quite explain, it makes me feel a little bit better.

Eventually, I wander into the bathroom that's connected to my room, the cream-colored tiles chilly underneath my feet.

Compared to the bedroom, there isn't much to see in here, but the shower catches my eye, with it's strange little array of knobs.

One turns on the water, a soothing gush of warmth that feels almost irresistibly good on my cold skin. I strip and step in, shivering a little in delight as my skin warms.

After fiddling with the knobs for a bit (and finding that one produces a shockingly cold jet, and the other white foam that smells a bit like roses) I reluctantly leave the warmth, figuring it had to be close to dinner time.

As I pull on a clean pair of dark pants and a nice shirt from the wardrobe in the bedroom, I stare at my old clothes where I've spread them on the cheerful green of the bed. I wonder if they'll make it back to my family somehow. Not that it really matters; my brothers no longer fit them—that's how they became mine in the first place.

I finger the soft white sleeve of the shirt gently, almost fondly. It's a shame, really. They're still nice clothes, despite their age. Still usable. With a quiet sigh I let the sleeve go, and turn to leave.

In the dining car, a huge meal has been set up, but no one's arrived yet except for Effie, though I'm not sure if she ever left at all. As I sit though, across from her, Katniss appears, also clean, and wearing a loose green shirt. A pin of a gold mockingjay with an arrow in its beak flashes at me as she sits beside me. That's new. I wonder where she got it…

We start to eat in silence. Katniss doesn't say anything to me, or even acknowledges I'm there. Still absorbed in her own thoughts, I guess. Although, perhaps it's the food. Not only is there more of it than either of us have ever seen in our lives, it's also delicious. And though Effie warns us that there's more to come, I fill up my plate with as much as I can reach, forgetting my nervousness and fear, suddenly ravenous.

Effie watches us, a satisfied look on her painted face. "At least you two have decent manners. The pair last year ate everything with their hands like a couple of savages. It completely upset my digestion." She sniffs after a moment. I nearly choke on the water I'm drinking, while Katniss looks furious. As I watch, she carefully puts aside her fork and knife, and deliberately scoops up a bit of food with her fingers, not bothered at all by Effie's look of disgust.

Later, we all gather in front of a large screen to watch the recaps of the other reapings. Again Katniss sits near me but doesn't seem to notice I'm there. She sits silently watching the screen, face blank but body stiff, radiating tension like the bakery's brick oven radiates heat. I should say something, but as is the norm with Katniss, nothing I can think of sounds right enough to say, so I just keep my mouth shut, and keep my eyes on the screen.

I watch, but I couldn't have told anyone what I saw if they bothered to ask. I know I should pay attention. I know that it's important, and possibly life-saving, to soak up every detail, to stop thinking like a stupid boy with an impossible crush and to start thinking like a competitor, but I can't help it. This is the closest I've ever been to Katniss, the girl I've loved since I first heard her sing, when we were five. Her leg's close to mine, not touching, but as distracting as if it was…

Despite the distraction, a few things manage to stand out: a monster of a boy from 1, smirking and wolf like as his name's called; a small, clever-looking girl from 5, and a tiny, skinny brown-skinned girl from 11. She really catches my attention, because she's so small, so much like Katniss's little sister. Momentarily distracted from Katniss's warmth at my side, I stare hard, half hoping a District 11 version of Katniss would volunteer for her, but no one does.

Then it's our district. District 12. Katniss volunteers for Prim and takes her place onstage, frightened but composed. To everyone's surprise, they show our three-fingered gesture to her. Then it's me. In comparison I look pale and sick, frozen stiff but somehow still moving forward, to join Katniss and Effie onstage.

Then the Capitol symbol fills the screen, ending the recaps. As they do, I realize we're missing someone vital: Haymitch. As I turn to say something to Effie about it, there's a thud, a scrape; then he appears, bringing with him a choking cloud of alcohol fumes. He steps in…and promptly throws up, all over his shoes and the floor.

**A/N: And that's the second chapter. The third one won't be so slow, I promise.**


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